


Playing for Keeps

by LilyRosePotter, speakingwosound (sev313)



Series: Playing For Keeps [1]
Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Multi, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 16:17:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15004637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyRosePotter/pseuds/LilyRosePotter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/pseuds/speakingwosound
Summary: When Jon had suggested they drive from Boston to LA after the Beacon Shows - “if we’re going to talk to all of America, shouldn’t we see all of America?” - Dan had known he meantI can’t handle the anxiety of flying in this shitstormand had hoped he meantdo you remember what we talked about, six weeks ago, in SF?





	Playing for Keeps

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dan Week Day 5: Road Trip/Tour Fic

Nebraska is boring. 

The other times Dan’s been to Nebraska he’s been on Air Force One, flying in and out of pre-organized rallies in a suit and a tie, with his schedule on a laminated card in his pocket.  This trip it’s just time and the open road, his hand hanging out the side of their rented BMW as miles and miles of wheat rush by. Peaceful, except for Lovett tapping out _Eye of the Tiger_ with his sneakers against the back of Dan’s chair.

“I know I have more than five songs on my iPod,” Jon says, running a hand through his wind-swept hair as he changes lanes to pass the only car they’ve seen in half an hour. 

In the rearview mirror, Dan sees Lovett glance over the top of his sunglasses. “This thing has a fucking scroll wheel.  I can’t figure out how to leave this Summer 2012 playlist and there’s only like five songs on it.” The iPod clicks through the speakers as Lovett scrolls, landing on Nicki Minaj. 

“Veto.” 

Lovett scoffs. “We don’t get vetos.”

“Of course we do,” Tommy argues, reaching over to tap Lovett’s thigh. “Road trip rules.” 

Lovett scowls, but he crosses his legs, pushing further into Tommy’s fingers. “I don’t know what kind of road trips you’ve been on, but-“ He shrugs, but scrolls again, settling on _Drive By_ with a frown. “Fuck, Jon, your summer of 2012 was sad.” 

“That was the summer I was deciding to leave the White House,” Jon murmurs.   

Dan crosses his legs, sliding his hand between his thighs so that he doesn’t reach over and squeeze Jon’s.  He’s been holding back the impulse since Iowa, when Tommy had spent four and a half hours telling Iowa stories that had Jon in tears and Lovett bitching for a full day.  As Tommy had reminisced about the breakfast buffet at the Holiday Inn in Sioux City, Dan had been sure that Jon was going to reach back, squeeze Tommy’s knee, suggest they find a Holiday Inn in a different town with a different purpose.  Dan’s been sure that Jon’s going to suggest a lot of things this trip. 

When Jon had suggested they drive from Boston to LA after the Beacon Shows - “if we’re going to talk to all of America, shouldn’t we see all of America?” - Dan had known he meant _I can’t handle the anxiety of flying in this shitstorm_ and had hoped he meant _do you remember what we talked about, six weeks ago?_ Six weeks ago, when Jon had run a focus group in San Francisco for three days and had crawled into Dan’s bed for three nights.  When Jon had stretched and smiled, all endless lines of tan skin under pale sheets, and told Dan about how long it had been, about how he hadn’t slept with anyone since election night.  When Jon had talked about the flashes of memories he has of Lovett’s curls and soft hips and Tommy’s long fingers and strong thighs. When Jon had intimated about how nice it would have been if Dan had been there, if Dan had wrapped his fist around Lovett and Tommy’s around Jon; how Jon hasn’t been able to think about anything - anyone - else since January. 

Dan had laughed it off, then, but he hasn’t been able to to think about anyone else, either, since Jon had spread his legs, his eyes dark and serious as he challenged, _how much more proof do you need that I’m into this?_  

“How much longer?” Lovett asks, kicking at the back of Dan’s chair again, this time to the rapid rhythm of _Call Me Maybe._  

“Till what?” Jon asks, motioning out towards the horizon, broken only by wheat and cows and heat shimmers.

Lovett sighs, deeply. “Civilization.” 

“Google says there’s a campsite in thirty miles,” Tommy says. 

“No.” 

“No way.” 

“Have you lost your goddamn mind?” 

“Okay, okay,” Tommy raises his palms in surrender, as if he doesn’t remember their first night attempt to put up tents just as clearly as the rest of them do.  As if Tommy hadn’t had to dig Jon out of a collapsed tent after twenty-five minutes of Lovett struggling gingerly with a Swiss Army knife. “We’ve gotta go another sixty, then.  Looks like there’s a motel just outside of the Platte Valley.” 

Lovett sighs, falling back against his seat. “Is there anything left from breakfast?” 

“Breakfast was seven hours ago,” Tommy protests, as Dan digs a styrofoam container out from under his seat.  He hands back the half a breakfast burrito Tommy hadn’t finished. 

“I know,” Lovett nods, taking the container, his fingers brushing Dan’s as he grins. “That’s why I’m starving.” 

Tommy scrunches his nose. “There was eggs and beef in there.” 

“Still is,” Lovett agrees, as he takes a large bite. “Pretty good, like it’s been warmed by nature’s oven.” 

“When karma comes back to bite you with violent food poisoning, don't expect any help from me,” Tommy warns. 

Lovett shrugs and takes another bite. 

*** 

“Room 208,” Jon says, tossing Tommy a keycard. 

Tommy catches it neatly and straightens up from where he’s leaning against the car. “One room for all of us?” he asks, eyebrows going up almost imperceptibly.

“They only had one room left,” Jon says- lies. Dan admittedly had been looking at the display of brochures in the lobby, looking for dinner, when Jon was checking in, but he’s almost certain Jon had only asked for one room. Tommy must catch the lie too, his eyes sweeping the nearly empty parking lot pointedly, but he just shrugs and reaches for his backpack. 

Lovett’s still curled up in the backseat of the car where they left him when Jon parked. He’d complained that he felt sick for the last fifteen miles and despite Tommy’s dark mutterings about the breakfast burrito, they’ve all been hoping it was a sudden bout of car sickness. 

Tommy reaches in to shake his shoulder and Lovett groans miserably. “Come on, we’ve got to get dinner and call it an early night if we’re doing this Oregon hike tomorrow,” Tommy says. 

“It’s not an ‘Oregon hike.’” Lovett, predictably, is energized by Tommy’s dismissal of his master plan. “It is Scotts Bluff and it is a National Monument with the only tunnels in Nebraska and hikes to lookouts where you can see parts of the Oregon Trail.” 

“Sure sure,” Tommy says amiably. “Oregon Trail hike.” 

Lovett stops two-thirds of the way up the stairs of the motel, holding his stomach again with a pained look on his face. Dan, two steps behind him, almost runs into him when Lovett comes to his sudden stop. “Hey, are you okay?” Dan asks, reaching a concerned hand out for Lovett’s shoulder. 

“I, um,” Lovett grits out, taking another tentative step. “Don’t think so.” 

Tommy, already fitting the key card in the door, steps away just in time when Lovett suddenly sprints towards him, shoving the door open. There’s a slam from inside, presumably as the bathroom door flies open before Lovett starts puking. 

“Fuck,” Tommy says sharply before following Lovett inside. Tommy’s already kneeling on the tile next to Lovett, hand hovering near Lovett’s back but not quite touching, when Dan makes it in the door, flinging his bag towards one of the beds. 

Lovett’s face is flushed when he rocks back on his heels a minute later. “Go ahead and say I told you so Tommy,” he grumbles. Tommy shakes his head and holds out a bottle of water he’s conjured from thin air. Lovett’s fingers have just closed around the bottle when his face twists and he leans towards the toilet again. 

“Oh god,” Jon whispers and Dan turns in the bathroom doorway to see Jon gripping the edge of the dresser, knuckles white. 

 _Fuck_. Jon gets sympathy sick at vomit, always has. Dan’s never going to forget the puddle-jumper flight from Des Moines to Chicago, late in Iowa primary season, where a sudden rainstorm had made the plane rock and Jon, whose flight anxiety doesn’t actually manifest as motion sickness, had suddenly pitched forward and thrown up all over Dan’s and his own shoes because one of the interns had been heaving behind them. Somehow, even after that, Dan still wants him.

“Jon go outside,” Dan orders. Jon’s face is turning an interesting shade of pale and they do _not_ need to be dealing with two sick cases. “We only have the one bathroom, go find food or something.” 

“It’s dark out!” Jon whines, like he’s a helpless teenager and not a thirty six year old man who used to write speeches for the leader of the free world. “I’ll get lost alone out there, you know I will.” 

That’s… true actually. Jon has no sense of direction at the best of times. Let loose queasy and grumpy in small town Nebraska, they may never see him again. 

Lovett moans pathetically. He’s just resting his face on the toilet bowl now, pale and clammy. Tommy has given into his caretaking instincts and is rubbing slow circles on Lovett’s back, the depth of Lovett’s misery apparent in the way he’s leaning slightly into the contact rather than snapping and pulling away. 

“Someone just go with-” Lovett says, pausing mid sentence to gag again. Behind Dan, Jon hisses out a pained breath. 

“Get him out of here,” Tommy snaps, face tight with concern as he looks at Lovett. Dan doesn’t move at first, he doesn’t want to leave when Lovett is this sick. 

Tommy twists to stare at him, his eyes assessing in a way Dan can’t quite parse. “Dan,” he says, calmer. “Go with Jon, get him something to eat, I’ve got this.” 

Tommy looks- he can’t possibly know. Unless- he and Jon talk about _everything_ , of course he knows. Does Tommy think they’re going to go off and hook up while Lovett’s dying on this floor?  

Dan’s opening his mouth to say- he doesn’t know what, when Jon coughs behind him in a way that doesn’t sound good. “Call if you need literally anything,” Dan tells Tommy, before he turns and drags Jon out the door.

*** 

Jon’s still looking pale and sallow as he reaches across his salad to grab a fork full of french fries from Dan’s plate.  Dan stabs ineffectively at the back of Jon’s hand, and Jon settles back in his chair for a moment, before glancing forlornly at the nearly-empty ketchup bottle. 

Dan sighs, twisting his plate and pushing it closer so Jon can guiltily dip his fries into Dan’s ketchup. 

“You mind?” Jon asks. 

“Little late to ask,” Dan grumbles, but he doesn’t take his plate back. “Just, make sure you eat some lettuce.  Roughage is good for upset stomachs.” 

Jon frowns. “Isn’t that just a dog thing?”

Dan shrugs. “Alyssa says it’s a human thing, too.” 

“That,” Jon argues, pointing at Dan with his fork before just grabbing a handful more of fries, “is a Brooklyn excuse to pay $18 for a kale smoothie.” 

“That’s possible.” Dan shrugs, motioning to the bartender for another round of watered down pale ales. “We don’t live in liberal bubbles at all.” 

Jon flinches. 

Dan frowns at him. “Jon, that wasn’t a diss.”

“Should have been.” Jon glances around the bar, at its dark wood panels and flashing disco lights in lieu of any natural light.  There are four TVs showing the Omaha game over their heads and two men with horseshoe mustaches playing darts in the darkest corner. “I’m sorry I didn’t, ahh, want to come alone.” 

“You’re in Kansas again now, Toto.” 

“I’m Toto?” Jon widens his eyes, placing his palm flat on his chest. “That wounds.” 

“Fair, though,” Dan shrugs.  He finishes half his burger and wipes at his fingers with a wad of napkins. “Let’s play a round of pool.  Bring the french fries.” 

Jon grabs Dan’s plate, leaving the rest of his salad behind, as he follows Dan to the pool table. Dan grabs two pool cues and a brick of chalk.  He hands one over. “You wanna break?”

“No, I, ahh-” Jon frowns, taking a long sip of his beer and side-eyeing the rack. “Go ahead.” 

“Sure,” Dan agrees, leaning over so he can see his angle better. “If you want to lose right off the bat.” 

“I don’t really think that’s going to be a problem,” Jon argues, as he watches Dan sink two stripes. “So I’m solids?”

Dan chuckles, leaning his chin against the top of his cue, “yeah, you’re solids,” as Jon chooses a purple ball.  He circles the table, closing one eye as he tries to make a vee with his fingers and slide his pool cue through them.  The cue ball bounces ineffectively off the far wall without touching another ball.

“That was good,” Jon deadpans, straightening out his shoulders.

Dan sinks another ball before his second skims the edge of the pocket. “Your turn.” 

“You’re pretty good at this, huh?” Jon leans two-thirds of the way across the table without looking at the angles.  He misses the cue ball on the first try, and it bounces across the table on the second, hitting Dan’s striped ball into the opposite pocket.

“I’m okay,” Dan shrugs. “You are not, apparently.”

Jon laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I must have missed this part of post-college life.” 

Dan raises an eyebrow. “Too busy playing flip cup.” 

Jon flushes, setting his sights on the hardest ball on the board.  He twists his body, sitting on the edge of the table and setting up his cue behind his back, his shoulders straining backwards.

Dan laughs. “Stop, stop, before you fucking hurt yourself.” He motions for Jon to slide off the table and copy his posture. “It’s all about the angles. See that yellow ball?” 

“Yeah.” Jon squints, exaggeratedly, scrunching up his nose as he looks at the ball. 

“It’s a much easier shot.” Dan stands, moving Jon’s elbow backwards.  Jon flexes his bicep, starting to move his cue forward before Dan stops him again. “Your entire body is off, just, let me-"

He steps up behind Jon, tapping Jon’s knee with his foot until he spreads his legs for more balance.  Jon freezes for a moment, but then he melts into Dan’s chest, his shoulders dropping when Dan taps between his shoulder blades and his hands going loose under Dan’s on the cue.  Dan wraps his fingers between Jon’s, guiding him to draw back and shoot.

“There, see?” Dan asks, as they sink Jon’s yellow ball. 

“Yeah.” Jon swallows, arching his back and pressing closer. “How’d you learn?” 

“Lovett showed me,” Dan whispers, breath warm against Jon’s ear.  He thinks about Lovett, wrapping his own hands around Dan’s on a pool cue in a Georgetown bar, as Jon’s ass nestles into the top of Dan’s thighs. “It’s all physics and math.” 

“Yeah,” Jon repeats, his voice dry and rough.

“Lovett’s a good teacher,” Dan chokes, feeling himself twitch in his shorts.  He steps back, reaching for his own cue and hugging it tight to his chest as he clears his throat. “So, ahh, when we were leaving, Tommy-“ He clears his throat. “Tommy has an idea of how this night is gonna end, huh?”

Jon’s cheeks are flushed under the pink and blue disco lights as he shrugs and misses an easy shot into the near pocket. “It’s too bad we’re sharing a room tonight.” 

“Yeah.  No. Remember to keep your elbow up.” Dan reaches for his beer, ineffectively trying to clear his head with a few, long drags. “I mean, you’ve talked to him?  About us?” 

Jon straightens, his shoulders snapping back. “No, I- of course not.  I would never, without your permission.” He settles on the edge of the table, reaching for one of Dan’s striped balls and rolling it between his fingers, averting his eyes. “Would be nice, though, if we could-“ 

Dan takes a moment to clear his head, threading his cue close to Jon’s hip and knocking one of Jon’s balls in without thinking.  When he straightens, Jon is looking at him again, his eyes dark and wide and earnest. Dan swallows, admitting, “yeah,” without admitting anything at all.

“With me?  Or with-“

Dan’s knees feel weak and he leans against the pool table, his knee brushing against Jon’s. “All of you,” he whispers, voice barely rising above the clutter of the bar. “If- I mean, if Tommy and Lovett wanted- This is stupid.  They couldn’t possibly-” Dan pulls back, downing the rest of his beer in one swallow, before banging it against the table. “We should get back, relieve Tommy of his shift. I saw a gas station on our way over here, and I’m sure Lovett could use some Gatorade by now.”

“Hey.” Jon reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Dan’s wrist, rubbing his thumb in small, comforting circles. “I can’t speak for Tommy and Lovett, per se, but I’ve seen the way they look at you and it’s the same as the way I look at you.” 

He tugs at Dan’s wrist and Dan takes a half-step forward before he’s stopped by a wall of chest in a Cornhuskers t-shirt.  The man’s arms are crossed across his chest, biceps twice the size of Jon’s, and Dan stumbles, a little, before he’s close enough to see into the guy’s pores. 

“Sorry,” Dan murmurs. “I should watch where I’m going.”

The guy shrugs. He has long, blonde sideburns and a stoic face with no cheekbones that Dan can see.  His voice is as gruff as his face. “If you two pansies are done, my friends and I would like to play some pool.” 

Dan freezes.   

On the other side of the guy’s shoulders, Jon’s face shutters.  He slides off the table, holding out his cue. “Yeah, we’re done.  We’re not very good, anyway.” He laughs, self-deprecatingly, and steps to Dan’s side. 

Dan throws a couple $20s onto the bar, his mind blank until they climb the stairs out into the still-humid summer evening.  “I shouldn’t have-” Dan shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let that guy get to me.” 

Jon wraps a casual arm around Dan’s shoulders and pulls him towards the gas station. “Think Lovett can keep down some Oreos?” 

“Saltines, probably,” Dan agrees, as he falls into step beside him. 

*** 

The hotel room is quiet when Dan and Jon get back.

Dan leaves the crackers and Gatorade on the dresser for the morning and follows the low light into the bathroom.  Tommy’s sitting on the vanity, a half-empty glass of pink water in his hands. His eyes look tired and sunken in the unflattering artificial light, but he smiles when he sees Dan leaning in the doorway. 

“How’s Jon?” He asks, as he turns, wetting a washcloth with cool water and draping it over Lovett’s neck.  Lovett doesn’t look up from where he’s still bent over the toilet, his head resting in the crook of his elbow, as he lets the water drip down his shoulders. 

“Fine. I got him to eat a salad and a lot of carbs.” Dan nods at Lovett. “How are things here?”

Tommy shrugs. “Better.  I got him to drink some vitamin water and it’s been-“ he glances at his phone- “almost half an hour.”

“We brought some saltines and Gatorade,” Dan points back into the room. “If he keeps the water down.”

“Thanks.” Tommy slides off the counter. “Can you help me-?” 

Dan nods, moving to take the other half of Lovett’s weight.  Lovett’s sweaty and loose between them, his eyes closed and his skin flushed, but he doesn’t protest as Tommy and Dan help him into the bed closest to the bathroom.  Dan presses the back of his hand to Lovett’s forehead, and Lovett blinks his eyes open. They’re glassy and overheated. 

“Hey,” he coughs, his voice rough. 

“Hey yourself.” Dan reaches for the button on Lovett’s pants. “Can I-?” 

Lovett doesn’t answer, but he does arch his hips so Dan can work his pants down his legs.  Jon hands Dan a fresh undershirt, and Dan helps Lovett into it, before pulling the quilt over him.  Tommy strips down to his boxers and undershirt, too, and slides in next to him.

Lovett’s head rolls against Tommy’s chest, his arm loose around Tommy’s waist.  His breathing slows and steadies, and Dan watches for a long moment, before he goes into the bathroom to clean up just enough that none of them will trip over a wet washcloth or a dirty towel when Lovett inevitably makes the rush back to the toilet.

When he’s done, Jon is already in the other bed.  Dan turns off the light and picks his way gingerly through their luggage.  He strips out of his own sweater and shorts in the dark, and climbs into bed behind Jon.  Jon’s already breathing shallowly, but he slides back into Dan’s space, his back flush to Dan’s chest and his knees bent around Dan’s, chasing the memory of the pool table or Dan’s warmth, Dan can’t be sure.

Across the room, Tommy catches his eyes.  His fingers are moving, soothing and comforting, in Lovett’s curls, and his eyes are bright and curious in the dim light filtering in from the parking lot.  He’s watching Dan, like he can see the way Dan flattens his fingers against Jon’s stomach under their quilt, and Dan gets that same half-anxious, half-anticipatory feeling he got at the bar earlier.

Dan’s heart flutters and he clears his throat, speaking low so they don’t wake Jon or Lovett. “You should sleep in, in the morning.  Jon and I will make sure Lovett drinks some pedialyte and eats something simple. We haven’t been up with him all night, we can take the abuse.”

“You might wanna get some teflon,” Tommy chuckles. “But, thanks.  I’ll take you up on that.”

There’s something in the way Tommy says it - quiet and sincere, whispered into Lovett’s curls and around Jon’s shoulders - that makes Dan hopeful that it means Tommy’s ready to take Dan up on more than a few extra hours of sleep. 

Before Dan can respond, though, Tommy’s eyes are closed and his breathing has slowed to match Lovett’s. 

Dan lets his fingers rest under the waistband of Jon’s boxers and closes his own eyes.

*** 

“We’ve reached Chimney Rock!” Lovett declares theatrically.

“Yeah, it’s over there, we passed it five minutes ago,” Tommy takes a hand off the wheel to gesture out the window.

“No, our wagon train Tommy, come on!” Lovett says. He continues the solemn narration he’s been doing all morning of a fictionalized journey on the Oregon Trail over Tommy’s huff of breath. “We’ve traveled five hundred and fifty four miles since Independence. Tanya and Elijah both have cholera.”

“Are you going to kill all your employees?” Dan asks curiously. Priyanka and Travis have already been lost in the first river crossing when Tommy failed to appropriately caulk the wagon.

“They’re not here to bribe the gamemaker,” Jon mutters. He’s stretched out across the back seat, leaning against the window with his socked feet against Dan’s thighs, looking like he’s half asleep.

“This is the Oregon Trail Jonathan, not the Hunger Games,” Lovett says condescendingly. “You’ve merely made the right choices to ensure that the game algorithm works out for you. We bought the right amount of wagon axles, but Tommy should definitely consider his investment in dinner in Salt Lake City tomorrow before something happens to him because he was underprepared.”

Dan’s survival in this Oregon Trail storyline Lovett’s been spinning since they left the hotel this morning was bought by a promise to pay for Lovett’s lunch today. Lovett’s still looking pale where he’s pretzeled in the passenger seat. If he can manage lunch Dan is happy to buy him whatever actual food he’ll eat after the past two days of only Gatorade. 

Jon had held out longer and Lovett had extracted not only a promise not to complain about the music for the rest of the drive to LA, but a promise to pay for drinks tonight and tomorrow after Jon had fallen out of the wagon and broke his arm a hundred miles back.   

“Yeah no dice,” Tommy says for the third time, signaling the turn onto the drive for Scotts Bluff. “Maybe I’ll split off from the train and go to San Francisco to pan for gold.”

“Not allowed!” Lovett yelps. 

“Jon, weren’t you going to read the visitors’ guide?” Tommy asks loudly over him.

Jon makes a face but obediently opens the brochure that’s sitting in his lap. He shoves his toes under Dan’s legs and Dan’s fingers twitch with the effort not to reach out and stroke his ankles, conscious of Lovett’s attentiveness. 

“There is a small visitor center here with a few exhibits and a short film to watch that explains the history of the area,” Jon reads. “A five minute drive will take you to the top of the bluffs to the North Overlook Trail and the South Overlook Trail. 

“The North Overlook trail provides an amazing view of the North Platte River valley, the badlands, and the cities of Scottsbluff and Gering and is a half mile, rated moderate. The South Overlook provides a view of Mitchell Pass, remnants of the Oregon Trail, and the Oregon Trail Museum and Visitor Center. It’s four tenths of a mile and is rated easy. Alternatively we could take the Saddle Rock Trail to the top from the visitor center which is one point six miles one way and is rated strenuous.” 

Tommy glances at Lovett next to him. “I think we should drive up and do one or both of the overlook trails, no?” 

Lovett looks like he might protest out of principle so Dan jumps in. “Isn’t that how we get to go through the tunnels? Did the wagon trains get derailed by tunnel collapses?” 

“Okay first of all wagon trains aren’t real trains Dan,” Lovett says eagerly, stubborn refusal to be coddled forgotten in the face of Dan’s commitment to his bit, however clumsy. “They can’t get derailed. Secondly the tunnels weren’t there during the days of the Oregon Trail, but we _are_ approaching a fort where we can trade with people!”

Tommy meets Dan’s eyes in the rearview mirror and smiles at him gratefully. Wisely, he doesn’t ask for further confirmation before following the signs to steer the car up the summit road, letting Lovett continue his narrative while they wind slowly through the tunnels and tight turns.

“You have dysentery,” Lovett informs Tommy loudly, when they get out of the car. The parking lot is crowded with families and couples and what looks like most of a tour bus full of retirees. At least four people take pointed steps away from them at Lovett’s remark.

Tommy rolls his eyes pointedly. "Remember when you were so busy dying of food poisoning that you didn’t speak? I miss that," he says, the blatant lie betrayed by the way he’s laughing so hard his face is turning red. 

“You have to be careful,” Lovett continues, as they head out onto one of the trails. “We could all spread the dysentery around pretty quickly. Close quarters, you know?” He waggles his eyebrows ridiculously. Dan turns just in time to catch Jon’s arm as he teeters on the rock he’s climbed up on, bent sideways with laughter. 

“You should put on sunscreen,” Dan says, when they’ve all stopped laughing. He’s speaking generally, none of them ever fucking wear sunscreen, but also Tommy’s nose is already red. Lovett at least has his Friend of the Pod hat on, shading his face. 

Tommy sighs dramatically, pouting in Dan’s direction. “Okay Dad,” he says with a wink, trying to wind Dan up. 

“I am four years older than you, shut the fuck up,” Dan retorts, digging in his pocket for the travel tube of sunscreen he’d grabbed when they got out of the car. He holds it out for Tommy to take, but Tommy steps closer to him instead, raising his eyebrows challengingly.

Dan squeezes some of the lotion onto his hand and reaches out for Tommy’s face, meaning to jokingly poke his nose. His thumb lands on Tommy’s cheek without conscious intent, but Tommy just stands there, face soft, while Dan smears sunscreen all over it.

“Rub in your own face, you’re not a child,” Dan says, hearing the rough edge to his own voice. “Here, you too,” he adds, holding out the tube to Jon, who takes it in his own hands. Dan's heart thumps, half grateful, half regretful.

“Tommy, you tried to go hunting before you recovered from the dysentery and fell over and broke your leg,” Lovett announces, walking ahead of them on the path.

“I am definitely not making it to Oregon,” Tommy says agreeably.

“We’ll see,” Lovett hums. “Also Tanya has died of the cholera. Elijah is not looking good.” 

The trail is short and paved, but it’s kind of uphill and Lovett is noticeably exerted by the time they’ve been walking for five minutes. This morning in the hotel, looking at the faintly green tinge to Lovett’s skin, Tommy had suggested that they cancel this side trip this morning, or push it off for another day but Lovett had insisted. 

“Maybe we should stop and…” Dan reaches for half-remembered facts about the Oregon Trail. He’s never played the computer game, though Lovett evidently has all the plot facets memorized. “Water the oxen?” he offers.

“Hmm,” Lovett says thoughtfully. “I guess we should, don’t want them to give out on the last stretch.” There’s a bench right in front of them and when Dan sits on it, Lovett only hesitates a moment before dropping next to him. Tommy digs in his backpack and comes up with a couple bottles of water and Gatorade which he offers around before falling to the ground on the edge of the trail next to Jon. 

“This is a really cool view,” Jon says after a minute. “Nebraska is so flat, but you can finally see some mountains.”

“We’re going to drive into those mountains tomorrow,” Tommy says with a smile. “Luckily we don’t really have to go through them like the settlers, thank god for interstate highways.” 

“If we don’t manage to fund infrastructure in the next decade, we might have to climb them with wagons again,” Dan says darkly. 

“No. No politics on the Oregon Trail,” Lovett insists, pushing to his feet with renewed energy. “Elijah has succumbed to the disease and Tommy’s leg has gotten infected, we’d better push on and see if we can find him a doctor.”

“Are the rest of us still in good health?” Jon asks, following Lovett down the trail. “That seems improbable.” 

“Well you’re very tired and malnourished,” Lovett tells him. “You’ve not eaten a full meal in weeks.” He looks down at himself, face twisting. “Wonder what that’s like,” he laughs.

“I think there was a diner on the way here,” Dan offers as they round the last bend. “We could probably find pancakes for lunch?” _Simple carbs are good_. 

Lovett brightens noticeably at that plan. “You’re buying,” he says happily. 

“Yes, I haven’t forgotten, in my good health on the trail.”

“Look!” Lovett declares, hurrying to lean over the railing at the overlook. A sign by his hand tells them that they’re looking at a small remaining part of the Oregon Trail, a faintly visible path through the grass and brush. 

“I found medicine in the wagon on the night you had the fever,” Lovett tells Tommy when Tommy comes up beside him. Tommy laughs and leans on the railing next to him, closer than Lovett normally lets people get. 

“Did I make it then?” 

“Just barely,” Lovett says. “There are doctors in the Willamette Valley though, so you’re going to recover and then the four of us are going to live out our dreams in Oregon. Jon and Dan can build us a house while you convalesce and then we can plant things and go hunting and live happily ever after.”

It’s just a stupid scenario Lovett’s concocted and he only has the four of them living out their lives in a homestead because he didn’t want to kill off the audience he had with him, but the fantasy sounds pretty good to Dan. Minus the cholera and dysentery and lack of indoor plumbing of course. 

Jon looks at Dan and smiles, wide and toothy. “Sounds perfect to me,” he says, too sincere.

It might actually be worth the lack of indoor plumbing, for a house with the three of them in it, Dan reconsiders, looking at Jon’s smile and the way the sun glints in Tommy’s hair and Lovett’s devilish grin as he looks back over his shoulder at Jon. 

“Any time you want to do manual labor for me, preferably shirtless, that’s fine,” Lovett laughs. 

*** 

They stop at the diner on the way back from Chimney Rock and Lovett keeps down enough pancakes - his order and half of Tommy’s - that Dan doesn’t argue too hard when Lovett kicks at Jon’s knee at half-past-seven and says, “you owe me drinks, remember?”

Jon looks up from where he’s lying on his side on the bed, his head pillowed next to Lovett’s hip as he scrolls through Twitter one-handed. “In exchange for a splint and some antibiotics, I remember.”

“A bargain,” Lovett agrees, as he slides off the bed. 

Gering is small and Lovett, despite his hunger, is still looking a little pale, so they walk the few short blocks back to Goonies Sports Bar.  There’s a pool table free in the back and Lovett starts collecting the pool balls as Tommy and Jon go to order at the bar. 

“I’m very good,” Lovett warns, as he finishing racking the balls and reaches for a cue.

Dan hands him the chalk, watching as Lovett’s hands move, slowly and rhythmically, against the tip of the cue.  He swallows. “I remember. You taught me.” 

“And now you taught Favs, so, we’ll see how great a teacher you are.” Lovett raises an eyebrow, his hands still moving in synchronization, over-chalking his cue and sending Dan’s mind sputtering into the gutter.  It settles there, simmering in memories of Jon’s knees nestled against his and older memories of Lovett’s voice in his ear, whispering about angles and degrees.

“If my math teachers had used your techniques,” Dan says, his mind still swirling, “I might have passed a college-level math course. Might even have gone to business school.” 

Lovett hums, finally putting down the chalk and reaching for the cue ball, twisting it between his fingers. “That sounds boring.” 

“Very,” Dan agrees, as Jon and Tommy finally arrive back with four beers and baskets of fries and fried pickles. 

Lovett shoves a pickle into his mouth, offering up his chalked cue to Jon as he says, “let’s put your money where your mouth is, Pfeiffer.  Jon, break.”

“Ahh.” Jon twists on to the side of his foot, glancing at Dan.  His eyes are dark and slitted, his mouth wet with beer. He takes the cue from Lovett, his hands twisting around it like he’s holding a baseball bat.

“I think-“ Dan says, slowly, turning away with effort and raising an eyebrow at Lovett, “that we should switch it up, yeah?  Make it interesting.” 

Lovett shrugs, casually. “Better break well, Favreau.  My pride is resting on it.” 

“I didn’t know there was a _bad_ way to break,” Jon mutters, as he leans over the table, his torso touching the felt, as he hits the cue ball.  It dribbles weakly down the table, barely breaking the triangle. 

Lovett swings his head, glaring accusingly. “You are a terrible teacher.” 

Dan shrugs. “Tommy, what are you going for?” 

Tommy squints his eyes, biting at his lower lip as he suggests, “stripes?” and pockets the easiest ball on the table.  He misses his second shot and shrugs, reaching for his beer. 

Lovett rolls his eyes, snatching the cue back from Jon and racking up three solids before missing off the right corner and waving at Dan. “Beat that.”

“I don’t know that that’s possible,” Dan concedes, half because he wants to lower expectations and half because he likes watching Lovett watch him.  Dan pockets two stripes under Lovett’s intense gaze, before Lovett bats his eyelashes exaggeratedly and Dan forgets to look where he’s hitting. The cue ball bounces harmlessly off the far wall.

“Two isn’t bad,” Lovett shrugs.

“Two is good,” Tommy agrees, quickly, leaning against the table next to Dan, his hip close enough to press into Dan’s thigh.  He takes a long, thoughtful sip of his beer. “Not as good as Lovett, but we can’t all win the partner lottery.” 

“You can say that again,” Lovett mutters as Jon twists his upper body against the table, trying to reach for a ball halfway across the table. “Fuck, Jon, don’t throw out your back, mine’s already sore enough from carrying your dead weight,” Lovett argues, even as he molds himself to Jon’s back, easing him into position.

Tommy swallows and Dan’s close enough to watch the way his pale skin moves, pale and slow and purposeful.  Tommy shifts impossibly closer, and Dan looks from Jon and Lovett to Tommy. It’s so easy to imagine what they could have looked like on election night, burying their pain and fear in each others’ skin.  He wonders if it would be just as easy if he reached out, pressed his mouth to Tommy’s throat. He wonders if it would be just as natural to press into Lovett the way Lovett is pressing into Jon, now, his hips flush with Lovett’s and their hands twisting together on Jon’s stomach. 

Across the table, Jon groans as his hand slips and the ball skids across the table, potting one of Tommy and Dan’s stripes.  Lovett rolls his eyes, grabbing the cue from Jon’s hands as he steps back. He pushes it in Tommy’s direction, “here, fuck, just- I’m gonna go to the bar.  Maybe more alcohol will loosen us up. Try not to win before I get back.”

Tommy chuckles, taking the cue. “I’m taking that as a challenge,” he calls, before he turns back to Dan, his cheekbones flushed. “What do you think- the red?” 

Tommy reaches past Dan, his arm brushing against Dan’s chest as he points to the red stripe. “Hmm?” Dan shakes his head, clearing his throat as he focuses back on the table, forcing himself to see the board in the lines and angles Lovett taught him. “The purple, I think.” 

Tommy frowns, but he leans against the table, his thighs straining as he reaches far enough across to pot the purple.  He knocks ineffectually at his second shot, but he’s grinning when he rises, resting his chin on the top of the cue. “One isn’t bad,” he offers. 

“Sure,” Dan agrees, shrugging faux congenially. 

“Hey, ahh,” Tommy lifts his head, his face twisting as he nods towards the bar. “That looks a little intense.”

Dan follows Tommy’s gaze to where Lovett’s leaning his shoulder against the bar.  He’s gesturing wildly at the man next to him, his mouth twisted downwards. Dan grabs his empty glass. “I’m gonna go-“ 

Dan crosses the bar, considerably more crowded than it was when they arrived,, and settles against the counter behind Lovett.  He drops his glass to the table with a clang. There are already four new beers in front of Lovett, and he’s running his finger around the rim of one of them as he’s saying, “that policy would lead to less funding for sites just like Chimney Rock.”

The man shrugs under his Cornhuskers t-shirt. “If national parks can’t fund themselves-“

“What do you think pays for this place to stay open?” Lovett interrupts.  He pushes against the edge of his glasses. “Tourists. Who are here to see Chimney Rock. Without that national park, this place would fold like a card table.”

The man shrugs again.  He has no cheekbones and blonde sideburns and he looks- Dan recognizes him.  Dan flushes, remembering _if you two pansies are done_ , remembering the way he froze, remembering the way Jon’s face had shuttered. 

“What do you care?” The guy asks as he eyes Lovett from knees to curls. “You don’t look like the sort to enjoy the great outdoors.” 

Lovett shrugs, his shoulders tight under his t-shirt.  He says, “I’m not entirely sure what sort you’re referring to-“ with all the calm of years of scars, scraped into his skin and his mind, years of retorts that Dan’s just starting to understand. 

Dan doesn’t have years of scars.  Dan has that memory of Jon, his face shuttering as this guy made him feel small with a single word.  Dan has images of Jon and Tommy and Lovett, moving together on Jon’s bed. Dan has hopes that, maybe, if he plays his cards right, he can fit himself in alongside them. 

His mind goes blank as he balls his hand into a fist and reaches past Lovett. 

The next few moments pass in a blur of images.  The guy’s shocked, slack face, a dark, red bruise already forming below his eye.  Lovett’s equally shocked face, his eyes wide and open behind his glasses, his fingers stuttering against their beers.  Commotion all around him, gasps and yells and angry, deep voices. The feel of Tommy’s hands, pulling at his elbow, his shoulder, his waist.

“Come on.  Dan, come on, we’ve gotta-“ Tommy’s voice is low in his ear, fast and insistent. 

Dan clutches his fist to his chest and lets Tommy pull him out into the cooling Nebraska night.

***

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Tommy yells. 

Dan doesn’t know what he was thinking. He’s never- He’s always had a temper but he’s never _hit_ anyone before. He’s not that guy. The warnings of decades in politics are spinning through his head. That was an assault. He could be criminally liable. Not to mention that it was so so stupid. God he hopes no one’s recognized them. He can see the headlines and tweets now, he can hear the questions from people who’ve known him so long, taught him how to blend into the background of politics, to do _not_ this.  

“That guy was an asshole,” Dan says finally. He knows Tommy isn’t going to buy it, but- “I’m tired and I’ve been drinking. You know a little something about bad choices when you’re tired and drunk.” It’s a cheap shot, he knows it’s a cheap shot, but maybe it’ll get Tommy off his back a bit. 

Tommy stares at him, skeptical. “Sure, I’ve been drunk and tired. But I’ve never hit a stranger in a bar Dan. Neither have you, unless you’ve been hiding quite a lot.” Dan sighs under Tommy’s scrutiny, crossing his arms and leaning against the brick wall of the bar. Tommy bites his lip contemplatively. “What did that guy say?”

Dan shivers with embarrassment. He can’t believe he lost it like that, but even if he could lie to Tommy, he can’t think of anything that would justify how stupid he was. So he sighs and tells the truth. “He- well he said that Lovett wasn’t the ‘outdoors sort.’” 

Tommy’s eyes flash for a second with the echo of Dan’s own fury. Then he scrunches his nose in confusion. “The fuck Dan?” he asks again. “That’s really fucking shitty, but it’s not enough to lead you to physical violence. What is going _on_ with you?”

“I know, I know,” Dan says frustratedly. “I don't know where my head's at tonight.” 

Tommy raises his eyebrows, calling bullshit. “You don’t know? Come on Dan. What’s got you so in your head?”

“What he said-” Dan starts. He doesn’t know how to explain to Tommy how it built up. How he got to this point. “He called us, Favs and I, pansies the other day. I couldn't let that slide a second time,” he says weakly, knowing it’s not enough.

"Shit," Tommy says, but he looks more contemplative than angry, like he's trying to put a puzzle together. “But it's still not worth it Dan."

"The other night- when he called us- Jon and I, we were-" _The way they look at you_ , Jon had said. Dan’s still not sure, but he thinks he’s maybe seen a bit of what Jon was talking about, late at night in the hotel, in the car, on the hike. Maybe Tommy- Dan laughs hollowly, helplessly. “You know, this is actually all your fault."  
  
Tommy just stares at him. "My fault?" he asks, nonplussed.

Dan takes a deep breath. This night can’t get much worse, but maybe, maybe it can get a lot better. “The other day, when Jon and I left- I was certain you knew.  About us," Dan says awkwardly. 

Tommy looks down, his face flushing. "I had my suspicions."

"Jon's been- intimating some things, about you and him and-" Dan swallows. "Lovett.  I've been thinking about it a lot the last few days. Wondering if-"

Tommy’s face shifts with understanding. He looks up, directly into Dan’s eyes as a tentative, hopeful smile breaks over his face. "Yeah, I've, ahh, been thinking about them, it, you, too."

Dan’s heart skips a beat. “Tommy,” he breathes.

“Honestly that was the most excitement this town’s seen in ages,” Lovett declares loudly, the door slamming closed as he and Jon appear. “They should be grateful.”

“Lovett, shut up,” Jon says affectionately. “I think I talked them out of the tar and feathers, don’t get us back in hot water.”

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles guiltily.

Jon eyes Dan knowingly for a long moment, then shakes his head. “It’s fine, shit happens. Let’s get back to the motel, yeah?” 

The walk back to the motel is quiet. With the adrenaline rush fading, they’re all a little drunk and pretty tired, lost in their own thoughts. 

Lovett’s dragging, clearly having pushed it too hard today when he’s not fully recovered. He lists into Dan’s side as they walk, unsteady. The third time he stumbles over his own feet, Dan gives in to the instinct to reach an arm around him, offer support. Lovett doesn’t shove him away, at least. 

“Those two,” Lovett says as the lights of the motel appear in front of them, bright and occupied amidst the closed industrial surroundings. Lovett jerks his head at Tommy and Jon ahead of them. Tommy is tucked under Jon’s arm, awkward with their height difference, but neither of them seem to mind. They’re talking about polling, Dan thinks, from the snatches of the low conversation floating back to him

“Yeah,” Dan says softly, wondering if Lovett has noticed, as he has, the way Tommy’s arm has steadily slipped lower on Jon’s back. It looks like he might have a hand hooked in Jon’s belt loop. Lovett makes a soft contented noise and leans in to Dan’s side.  
  
“Jon and his fetish for casual touching,” Lovett murmurs, teasing. Dan chuckles, but there’s a familiar heat rushing through him.  

“Jon’s always dealt with stress the same way,” Dan says contemplatively. “I remember,  was it 2009? 2010? I'm getting old. It was a big ACA speech and Jon was struggling, until- well, he was relaxed, afterwards and I woke up to find him writing at my kitchen table.  With those horribly uncomfortable chairs. Remember those?" 

Lovett hums consideringly. “Yeah, on election night-” He cuts himself off abruptly. 

“I know,” Dan says softly. Only after the words have left his mouth does he consider that Lovett might not appreciate that Jon told him. _Not without permission_ , Jon said though.

“Don’t you wish you’d been there?” Lovett says, and he’s joking, Dan can hear that he’s joking but he can’t stop it from leaving his mouth, too sincere by half. 

“Yes.”

“What?!” Lovett exclaims.  

Jon and Tommy’s heads whip around at Lovett’s yell.

“Can we- our room is _right there_ ,” Dan pleads quietly, tugging at Lovett’s arm. He doesn’t want to do this in public.

“Dan!” Lovett yells again.

“Lovett, come on,” Tommy pounds down the stairs to tug at his other arm and drag him up the steps and inside. 

“Dan said that-” 

“ _Inside_ , Lovett,” Tommy cuts him off. Dan and Lovett’s conversation must have been louder than Dan thought it was. His stomach swoops with nervousness but- Tommy said _I’ve been thinking about it too_ . Jon said _would be nice if we-_.  

As soon as the door closes behind Dan, Lovett whirls around. “You're joking- you have to be- that's a rather cruel thing to joke about," he says, sharp and… afraid. Dan can see it in the lines around his eyes and the way he’s twisting his feet against the mauve motel carpet.

Dan looks at all of them. Jon looks delighted, his face totally open. Tommy looks cautiously hopeful. Lovett’s clutching his arms across his chest, face tight. Dan presses his lips together, takes a breath. "I'm not joking." 

Lovett looks like his mind is going a million miles a minute - well, when is it not - but he slowly takes a step towards Dan, then another. “You,” he says slowly. “You punched a man tonight. For me."

“Yeah,” Dan swallows. “I probably shouldn't have done that but..."

Lovett looks over his shoulder at Jon and Tommy before he turns back to Dan. He still looks scared but his face is starting to loosen. "You couldn't- this isn't how things work." 

“Maybe not, but when has that held us back before?" Jon says with certainty. 

Lovett’s gaping, twisting to look between them. His eyes stop when they catch on Tommy’s. 

Tommy looks stunned, wide-eyed, but calm. He nods at Lovett. “I think about that night all the time.” 

Lovett sputters, “so what, we’re all just gonna- what the fuck?” 

Jon shrugs, easy. “Only if you’re into it. There’s, there’s other things we could do too.”

Lovett stares at him before slowly turning back to face Dan, eyes wide and questioning.

Dan smiles at him reassuringly. "Like, I'd really like to kiss you.  If that'd be alright?" he ventures.

"Alright?" Lovett says disbelievingly. "You're- I- fuck yes!"

With that ringing endorsement, Dan doesn't waste any more time suppressing the urge to tug Lovett close and kiss him soundly.  Lovett’s mouth is soft and Miller Lite-wet, and there’s no trace of his illness in the way he wraps his hands, tight and sure, in the bristles around Dan’s ears.  Dan’s thought about this, for the days since they left Boston, for the weeks since Jon put the idea on the table, for - if Dan’s really honest with himself - the months and years since he’s known them, but he never thought it could be like this.  Easy and smooth and everything he’s ever wanted. 

Over Lovett’s shoulder, he can see Jon and Tommy, twisted together against the headboard.  Dan might be dazed by Lovett’s touch, but he can barely see where Tommy ends and Jon begins, all pale and tanned skin twisted together as Jon raises his knee and Tommy moves against him.  It’s familiar, a dance they started almost a decade ago that’s culminating in this moment, right here, right now, in this small town in rural Nebraska. 

“We should get a plaque, engrave this damn motel’s name on it,” Lovett murmurs, as he pulls away just long enough to catch his breath.

“Yeah,” Dan chuckles, his breath warm on Lovett’s lips. “Bed?” He offers.

Lovett bites his lip, eyes darting to the bed and back to Dan.  He nods, slowly, cautiously, and Dan taps his hip, pulls him close as they settle next to Jon.  The mattress dips as Jon pulls away from Tommy, twisting his head to greet them both with a wide, blinding smile. 

“Hey,” he murmurs as he flips onto his other side, one hand sliding under Dan’s shirt to dig into the skin of his stomach as he pulls Lovett closer with his other. 

“This is ridiculous,” Lovett mutters, low and harsh and awed in the quiet of the motel room, like he still can’t quite believe this is happening. 

Dan tangles his fingers into Lovett’s curls, arching his thigh into Jon’s hand as he catches Tommy’s eyes over their heads. “Not so ridiculous,” Dan promises, “not so ridiculous by half.” 

Lovett snorts into Jon’s mouth and Jon pulls just far enough away to glare at him.  His fingers pinch at Dan’s side. “Hey now, none of that. I’ve been playing an awfully long game here, and I think I deserve some reward.”

“What kind of game?” Lovett shakes his head, pressing further into Dan’s fingers.

“Blackjack, poker, darts, does it matter?” Jon’s face softens and, behind him, so does Tommy’s. “Either way, I was playing for keeps.” 

“Fuck- you’re- just- Come here.” Lovett’s eyes are wide and dark, and he pulls Jon back in. 

Dan’s sure that won’t be the end of it.  He’ll - they’ll - probably spend the rest of their lives convincing Lovett that this isn’t a fluke on the Oregon Trail or whatever he’s convinced himself that love is.  But as Tommy shifts onto his knees, sliding around them so that he can pull Dan into a long, heated, desperate kiss, Dan thinks it’s a small price to pay to spend the rest of their lives convincing Lovett otherwise.

*** 

Nebraska is still endless stretches of wheat fields and cows and gas stations when they pull out of Gering the next morning, but it’s a lot less boring then when they drove into town.  Dan remembers, just three short days ago, crossing his legs to keep from reaching out for Jon, but he doesn’t hesitate taking Tommy’s hand, now, as they cross the county line.

In the passenger seat, Lovett crosses his ankles on the dashboard, a giant iced coffee perched precariously in his lap.  He twists his knee, pressing further into Jon’s hand, as he slides his sunglasses over his nose. “Does this mean,” he asks, his voice calm and casual, but his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses, “that you’re finally ready to consider leaving San Francisco for greener pastures?”

“San Francisco is great,” Tommy argues, easily, as he twists to lie across the back seat, his head in Dan’s lap and his toes hanging out the edge of the window.  He keeps his hold on Dan’s hand, bringing it to rest against his sternum. 

“Sure, if you like overpaying for fog and cockroaches,” Lovett shrugs, “and the pleasure of not having our company.” 

Dan twists his fingers into Tommy’s t-shirt. “I sent a list of real estate options this morning, while I was drinking coffee and you were all still sleeping.” 

Jon scoffs. “I was drinking coffee.  With you.”

Lovett shrugs. “I was still in bed with Tommy and you can’t make me regret that decision.” 

Tommy chuckles, closing his eyes and settling further against Dan’s thigh.  Dan shakes his head, but he can’t keep the grin from his face as he pulls up the email, one handed and holds it out.  Tommy grabs it, releasing Dan’s hand so he can flip through listings, before pausing on the third one. “This one’s nice.”

“That the one with the blue trim?” Tommy nods and Dan says, quietly. “Yeah, that’s my favorite."

In the front seat, Lovett makes an impatient noise, twisting halfway around so he can grab the phone from Tommy’s hands.  He rests it on his thigh for a long moment, reading, Dan’s sure, every detail of the listing, before he looks up. The laugh lines around his eyes are pulled so tight that Dan can see them around the edges of his sunglasses. “I like it.  You should get it.”

Dan grins, dropping his hand back to Tommy’s chest, and turning to gaze out at the Nebraska countryside as it rolls past. “Good.  That’s settled then.”


End file.
